


Faith is a series of calculations.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how you come to believe in somebody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith is a series of calculations.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for March 17, 2010. Spoilers apply for the Benizakura Arc of the anime/manga, or the Benizakura movie. Best read to the beat of Bakuchi Dancer. :3

As they fight back to back on the deck of a ship that belonged to someone they used to call a comrade, while they break away to raze separate ends of a new battlefield, Katsura Kotaro catches sight of Sakata Gintoki slicing an Amanto thrice his size in half and remembers a place not too different from where they now stood, and a situation much like the one they were in at that moment. Back then, there had been two others – two more, to cover other ends of the area. Between the four of them, any place could turn into a veritable killing field. Now that they are the only ones left, it’s only too easy to slip into old habits, like moving as though somebody’s always going to follow through just the way you expect, as though there’s always going to be at least three other people who can watch your back.

 

The truth of it is, in the here and now, they’re an army in two men but they’re older and colder, shaking off the dust from too much running and a fair bit of hiding by reremembering the best way to kill something – man or Amanto – through practical demonstration. They’re just that much slower, always a little too late to that perfect kill, or flow from one enemy to another in the way that they used to. They’re out of breath too quickly, forced to dance back to the safe zone they’ve carved out together, to lean against each other’s bodies and stare their foes down, ignoring the shake of their arms and the slipping grip they have on the hilts of their swords.

 

Back then, the Shiroyasha had words for that moment, and a bullheaded belief that they weren’t going to die, they were going to cut and cut and cut until they could walk through the battlefield, untouched and perfectly free to move on to the next one. There are no words, though, just Gintoki sucking in a breath, slumping for but one moment against Katsura’s shoulder before charging at the first Amanto that comes his way.

 

Maybe he doesn’t need the words in order to keep going now, Katsura realizes, as he brandishes his weapon, steps forward, cuts his next target down. Maybe all he needs now is the remembrance of the warmth of the man’s back on his own, and the image of Gintoki’s form against the sun burned into his eyes.


End file.
